Linda Lael Miller Montana Creeds Series Volume 1: Montana Creeds: LoganMontana Creeds: DylanMontana Creeds: Tyler

by Linda Lael Miller

  “They own the Sundowner Motel,” Jimmy announced, grinning. He hadn’t heard a word she’d said, but that was a man for you. Men didn’t listen, unless you were saying exactly what they wanted to hear. “I’m sure they’d be glad to put you up for free, just like you was company. Things have been slow at the Sundowner since that new Holiday Inn went in out by the casino.”

  Sharlene was intrigued. Dylan sure as hell wasn’t going to offer her a place to stay—not right away, anyhow—and renting a room would put a serious nick in her already-pitiful funds. “I wouldn’t feel comfortable,” she said shyly, and as sweetly as she could, given that she was dead sick of Jimmy-twig-dick. For one thing, his deodorant had failed him—at least three bus stops back. “You know, sharing a room, under your folks’ own roof—”

  “Me, neither,” Jimmy said, still grinning. “My mom would throw a hissy fit. She’s a good cook, though, and she runs a clean place. She’s been after me to get a girlfriend for years, so she’ll make you right welcome.” His meaty shoulders moved in a shrug beneath his dirty T-shirt. “I’ll just go out and stay at the farm.”

  I’ll just bet she’s been after you to get a girlfriend, Sharlene thought, behind her Girl Scout smile. Good luck with that, bozo.

  “I am a little short on funds,” Sharlene confessed, almost simpering. She hated simpering, but so far it had worked on every man she encountered except Dylan Creed, so she pulled it out of the old toolbox.

  “I know,” Jimmy replied cheerfully, beginning to sweat under the afternoon sun. “That’s why I think you ought to stay with Mom and Dad, at the Sundowner, until we’re ready to—well, you know—tell people about us.”

  Tell people about us. Sharlene deserved an Oscar, by her own reckoning, for not throwing up on his shoes.

  “Okay,” she said, batting her false eyelashes. “If you’re sure.”

  That technique hadn’t worked on Dylan, either, but Jimmy Cricket here was a whole other species from her baby girl’s lovin’ daddy.

  A little over an hour and a half later, Sharlene was settled in a seedy room at the seedy Sundowner Motel on the other end of Main Street, and practically a member of the family.

  She showered.

  She put on fresh clothes and a touch of lip gloss.

  And then she scarfed down the chicken-fried steak, mashed potatoes and creamed peas Jimmy’s delighted mother whipped up just for her, right there in the kitchen behind the motel’s checkin desk.

  Time enough to tackle the Dylan problem later.

  In the meantime, she’d play it cool, gather her strength. She’d landed on her feet—just like she always did.

  *

  KRISTY WAS MYSTIFIED when Dylan showed up at the library, right at quitting time, without Bonnie or Sam in his truck. He hardly gave her a chance to lock up before he had her by the hand, pulling her down the sidewalk.

  “Where—”

  “You’ll see,” Dylan said.

  She let him hoist her into his truck, like the storied sack of potatoes, and sat there wondering what this was all about.

  He volunteered nothing at all. Just turned on the radio, tuned it to a country station and hummed along with the music as they traveled the length of Main Street and then on toward the ranch.

  Maybe, she speculated, he’d decided to lease that double-wide trailer after all, and move her and Bonnie and the pets out there until the new house was finished.

  But he turned in at the tilting mailbox—with Madison still stenciled on the side—and they bumped and jostled over the rutted road until they were parked in front of the old house she’d grown up in.

  Tears filled her eyes at the sight of it.

  So many memories, some good, some terrible.

  When had she let go of it? All she knew was, she had let go.

  “What?” she whispered. “Why are we here?”

  Dylan unfastened his seat belt, turned to unfasten hers and place a soft kiss on her mouth. “Because it’s yours,” he said. “This place, I mean. You can tear it down or you can restore it, or whatever.”

  “I don’t understand. The Tri-Star people—”

  “Logan is Tri-Star, Kristy,” Dylan said, his lips still very close to hers. His breath was warm and mint-scented and it made her mouth tingle in anticipation of more kisses—so much so that it was a moment before she realized exactly what he was telling her. “And as of today, so am I.”

  Kristy’s eyes widened. Her mouth moved, but no sound came out.

  Dylan chuckled, his rein-roughened hand resting lightly against her cheek. “What’ll it be, Mrs. Creed?”

  “I’m—” She paused, swallowed. “What about Sugarfoot’s grave?”

  “It’ll look like Grant’s Tomb by the time I get done with it,” Dylan said, resting his forehead against hers now. “Sugarfoot’s not going anywhere, babe.”

  “You and Logan bought Madison Ranch?”

  Dylan pulled back a little ways, looking worried. “Is that a bad thing?”

  She considered the question, then shook her head. “I guess not. But I know I mentioned Tri-Star to you, and you just let me think—”

  “I didn’t know, Kristy,” Dylan said. “Logan just told me today. He offered me a third of the company, and I bought in.”

  “Will you still be able to afford that fancy house, with the mechanical-bull room?”

  Dylan laughed, quietly at first, and then with a gusty whoop of delight. “Yeah,” he said. “I can still afford the house.”

  “I don’t know what to say.”

  He leaned past her, his upper arm brushing her breast, and opened the glove compartment. Took out a small black velvet box.

  Kristy’s heart did a reverse bungee jump, practically coming through the top of her head.

  “Well, I know what to say,” Dylan told her, flipping open the box with his thumb. A knuckle-to-knuckle wedding-and-engagement-ring combo nestled inside, glittering like trapped stars. “I love you, Kristy. I have since we rode the school bus together. I was just such a damn—Creed that I didn’t know what I was feeling.”

  Tears slipped down Kristy’s cheeks. “Y-your ring,” she half sobbed, half laughed, “is at home, in my nightstand.”

  Dylan’s eyes twinkled. “You bought me a ring?”

  She nodded, not even bothering to dab at her face with the back of her hand. “I was hoping—”

  Dylan waited.

  “I love you, too. And it goes way back. I was such a geeky kid, and you teased me and pulled my pigtails, but when the chips were down, you defended me.” She closed her eyes for a moment, savoring everything, then opened them again, so she could look at Dylan. “Do you remember when we started junior high, and your dad made you get those school pictures taken?”

  “Yeah,” Dylan said slowly. “I guess.”

  “You guess. Well, I still have mine. You didn’t give it to me—I traded Tyler a whole week of lunchroom desserts for it.”

  Dylan laughed again. Kissed her again. “Ty was always a businessman,” he said, somewhat wistfully. In fact, it was almost as if he was talking about someone who’d died a long time ago.

  “He drove a hard bargain,” Kristy said, smiling moistly.

  Dylan took her hand, slid the wedding ring onto her finger first, then the engagement ring. Door-knockers, both of them.

  “I think satellites can pick the sparkle up from space,” Kristy commented, enjoying the look of those rings—Dylan’s rings—twinkling on her left hand.

  See, Mom? she asked silently. He bought the cow, even though the milk was free.

  “Nothing but the best for my missus.” Dylan grinned, kissing her knuckles. And that felt even better than the rings.

  They were quiet for a long time, then Dylan turned and looked toward the house. “If you need a while to decide, it’s okay,” he said.

  Kristy wasn’t tracking all that well. “Decide?”

  “The house?” Dylan reminded her. His eyes were soft, but blazing with blue fire. She couldn’t w
ait to get him home and—well, that, but she was eager to get that gold band on his finger, too.

  She studied the sad old house, with its sagging floors and broken windows, and sunken roof. A shred of the blue tarp still clung to one of the warped shingles, after all these years, fluttering softly in the breeze.

  “Let’s take it down,” she said.

  “You’re sure?”

  She nodded. She’d had a lot of happy times in that house, with her mom and dad, but it would always be the place where something horrible had happened. “I guess it’s my way of letting go of the past and moving on,” she said.

  Dylan kissed her forehead. “Understood. I’m doing some letting go and moving on myself.”

  “If you hadn’t just given me these rings,” Kristy informed him, “I’d be pretty worried about that statement.”

  “I’m here for the duration,” Dylan said. “Till death do us part.”

  “Till death do us part,” Kristy repeated.

  And she would always remember that as the moment she truly married Dylan Creed, with her whole heart, her whole body, her whole mind and spirit.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  SHARLENE WATCHED Dylan working with the yellow horse for a long time, the way she’d watched him from the alley the night she’d left the baby in his truck behind that crumby card-joint in Vegas. He’d stripped off his shirt, and the sun glinted in his golden hair, and his muscles moved like graceful cords under his skin.

  She’d tracked him here, to Stillwater Springs Ranch after borrowing Jimmy’s mother’s old Buick. It had been three days since she’d rolled into town on that bus, days she’d spent sizing things up. Exploring her options.

  Now that she was expected to clean up after the few tourists who chose the decrepit Sundowner over the shiny new Holiday Inn, in return for board and room, her mood had dipped considerably.

  She studied the woman, slim and blond, with one of those scrubbed-looking faces, holding her little girl and practically eating Dylan up with her eyes.

  According to Jimmy’s mom, Florie, the two of them were married now.

  The flash of the rings on the woman’s left hand was proof enough.

  Sharlene bit her lower lip. So much for the big plan of becoming Mrs. Dylan Creed and reaping all the accompanying benefits. She was totally screwed.

  It was just as this thought passed through her head that Dylan seemed to sense her presence. He stopped what he was doing, handed the long lead-rope off to a teenage boy standing nearby and started toward her.

  The woman—Kristy, Sharlene thought her name was—stood back for a few moments, then came on ahead, bringing the child Dylan called Bonnie along with her.

  Sharlene waited for the kid to shriek with delight at seeing her again, and strain to be taken into her arms, but she didn’t do either of those things. She screamed and tried to crawl right down the neck-hole of the Kristy-woman’s blouse.

  Dylan put a hand out, and Kristy stopped, a little way behind him, soothing the baby. Murmuring to her.

  Dylan’s expression was so cold as he approached Sharlene that she actually felt a physical chill, right there in that sun-washed pasture across from the big ranch house.

  One by one, the last of Sharlene’s hopes crumbled.

  Dylan wasn’t going to give in and marry her so he could help raise the kid. He wasn’t going to move her into a big fancy house, buy her a new car and give her a handful of credit cards.

  And he wasn’t going to give Bonnie up without a fight.

  Dylan Creed, Sharlene knew, could put up one hell of a fight.

  “I’d like to see her,” Sharlene heard herself say, in a stranger’s voice, soft and sad, “when she’s older.”

  Dylan absorbed that. Said nothing.

  He didn’t even nod.

  “Like you said on the phone,” Sharlene struggled on. “When—Bonnie’s eighteen, if she wants to see me, well, I’ll want to see her.”

  Still, Dylan didn’t speak.

  “I—I need money, Dylan.”

  He finally spared her a nod, but nothing more.

  “A lot of money.”

  “As soon as the proper papers are signed,” Dylan said, glaring at her, his fists knotted at his sides, “you’ll have your settlement.”

  She glanced at Bonnie. The little girl—her little girl—was glaring at her now, in the same way Dylan was. Both her arms were wrapped tightly around Kristy’s neck, and her whole body seemed to scream, Don’t let go.

  “Okay,” Sharlene said, trying to squeeze out a few motherly tears. Inside, she was thinking of where she’d go next, and what she’d buy. Who she’d be able to attract, with a chunk of money drawing interest someplace, and no kid always yammering for attention.

  “That’s it?” Dylan echoed. “Just ‘okay’? It’s that easy to walk away from your own daughter?”

  Sharlene felt a flash of shame, but she didn’t take the bait. Arguing with this man would get her nowhere—just like always.

  “But, then, you’ve had some practice at that, haven’t you, Sharlene? Walking away, I mean?”

  “Don’t be mean,” Sharlene cooed.

  “Spare me,” Dylan said. “Wherever you’re staying, Logan—that’s my lawyer—will bring the papers by tomorrow. Have somebody read them over, if you want. Once they’re signed and notarized, you’ll have your money.”

  Sharlene nodded, trying not to look too pleased at the prospect. She wouldn’t have been happy in this shit-hole town anyway, she figured. There wasn’t even a movie house, for pity’s sake, or an outlet mall. What did people around here do on a Saturday night, anyhow? Sit around and spit-shine their shoes for church?

  She’d have gone stark crazy within a week.

  “Okay,” she repeated.

  “The terms are pretty stiff, Sharlene,” Dylan went on, slowly and carefully. Did he think she was stupid?

  Well, yeah, he probably did.

  And she didn’t give a rat’s ass what he thought, as long as his check cleared the bank.

  “No more money, Sharlene. Ever. And you don’t come within three states of Bonnie without my say-so. Are we clear on that?”

  Sharlene glanced toward Kristy again, unable to hide her contempt. “I’ll go you one better, Dylan,” she said. “Double the settlement, and your pretty bride there can adopt Bonnie.”

  For once in her short acquaintance with Dylan Creed, she’d actually managed to surprise him.

  “You’re serious?”

  “I’m serious.”

  Dylan turned, looked at Kristy.

  Kristy nodded, holding Bonnie a little tighter.

  Dylan put out his hand to Sharlene. “It’s a deal.”

  *

  AT TEN O’CLOCK THE NEXT morning, in one of the public rooms at the library, the agreed meeting place, Sharlene signed away all rights where Bonnie was concerned, snatched up the check Dylan had written and kicked the dust of Stillwater Springs, Montana, off her feet so fast that Kristy was amazed. Apparently, she’d persuaded poor Jimmy, the latest in what was probably a long line of suckers, to drive her to the airport in Missoula.

  “It’s over?” Dylan asked Logan, sounding shell-shocked.

  Logan, looking spiffy in his suit, grinned. “It’s over,” he confirmed. He turned to Kristy. “When do you want to start adoption proceedings?”

  She and Dylan had talked about that most of the night. Dylan wanted her to be sure—it was a big step, adopting a child, after all. A major commitment.

  “How about yesterday?” Kristy asked, beaming.

  Logan laughed, took another folder out of his briefcase and slid it down the table toward her. “We aim to please, here at Creed, Creed and Creed—sign and I’ll file the petition.”

  Kristy’s eyes widened. She looked at Dylan.

  He looked at her.

  “Got a pen?” she asked Logan.

  And she wrote her name, Kristine Madison Creed, on every line Logan pointed out.

  “When will Bonnie be m
y daughter, too?”

  “I think Bonnie’s already your daughter,” Logan replied. “Legally, there’s a six-month waiting period, then a hearing. Sharlene won’t come out of the woodwork wanting to put on the brakes, Kristy. She’ll forfeit a serious chunk of her settlement if she does, and we spread it out over a period of fifteen years to make sure she couldn’t stash it somewhere outside the country and then try to take Bonnie back.”

  Dylan took a tight hold on Kristy’s hand, pulled her close. “About that honeymoon,” he said. “Where would you like to go, Mrs. Creed?”

  Logan cleared his throat, gathered his papers and left.

  Kristy simply stared at him.

  “I’m serious,” Dylan insisted, but his blue eyes were full of twinkling mischief. “We need a honeymoon. Where to?”

  Kristy grinned. “Well,” she said, straightening his collar, “I know this place where I used to lie in tall grass with my lover and look at the stars—”

  She felt him go hard against her. “What about Hawaii? Or Mexico? Or Las Vegas?”

  “All I want to do, Dylan Creed, is lie down in the tall grass again, with my husband, and love him with everything I’ve got.”

  He laughed, and she barely had time to pick up her purse, he pulled her toward the door so fast.

  As they crossed the library, Susan called out from behind the main desk. “Zachary Spencer has called five times about that movie deal. What am I supposed to tell him?”

  “Tell him to forget it,” Kristy called back. “In the kindest possible way.”

  Susan seemed determined to keep them right there, in the library. “Did you vote? The special election is today, you know. Mike Danvers dropped out over the Freida scandal and Julie’s threatening to have an affair just to get back at him. So that means Jim Huntinghorse is running unopposed.”

  They were almost at the door.

  This time, Dylan answered. “Then I guess he won’t need our votes,” he said. “Goodbye, Susan.”

  “If anyone else calls,” Kristy added, “tell them Mr. and Mrs. Dylan Creed are away on their honeymoon.”

  Dylan opened the door and all but pushed Kristy through it.

  She looked back once, and saw Susan blush, and then smile and waggle her fingers in farewell.